


The Universe is on my side

by claudinedelyon



Category: SKAM (Italy)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Brief Existential Angst, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Extreme levels of obliviousness, Friendship, Getting Together, I apologize for nothing, M/M, Misunderstandings, POV Nico, Roommates, idiots to lovers, nothing bad this is not an angsty fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:40:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25163278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claudinedelyon/pseuds/claudinedelyon
Summary: Nico needs a new place, Filippo needs a new roommate, and it doesn't take much for them to figure out how to solve both problems at once. Meanwhile, Martino, although not technically living there, needs a place to study and some company from people who are not his mother.From there follows a tale of three boys, one sofa, food theft, dwarf planets and questionable flirting skills.
Relationships: Niccolò Fares/Martino Rametta
Comments: 104
Kudos: 69





	1. Chapter 1

It starts like this, with two basic problems to solve. Niccolò’s crook of a landlord gets arrested for a bunch of illegal practices just a few days after Filippo’s roommate announces with very little forewarning that she is leaving.

At this point, two sisters get involved and Niccolò’s life takes a turn for the significantly better. Now, despite his many attempts to remedy the situation as a determined six-year-old, Niccolò is an only child, but Sana is within earshot when he describes to Rami the last place he visited, and Filippo complains to Eleonora about how much of a pain in the ass it is to find a half-decent roommate, and the two girls just happen to be inseparable.

And thus, a week later, Niccolò gains a new flat and a roommate.

The flat is clearly an upgrade on his last place. First and foremost, the landlord is not currently saddled with a list of lawsuits as long as his arm. But most of all and for all that it’s not very big, it is actually quite nice.

They both get their own bedrooms, which is not a given in this neighborhood, and a decent living area that is just wide enough to fit a kitchen table, a sofa and a coffee table where they can chill together in the evenings or have a friend or two around, more if they’re willing to share some body heat. In the end, even if it’s almost impossible to turn around when you’re standing in the shower, he considers it a good bargain, especially as it puts him much closer to university than his old flat.

The roommate is possibly even more of an upgrade. Filippo is not around that much, as he seems to have a social calendar worthy of some kind of tech magnate, but whenever he is and cooking some actual food, he always makes enough for two and leaves half of it on Nico’s side of the fridge. That might have something to do with the face Filippo had pulled while observing him cook dinner for himself on his first night. Still, the food’s good, he’s never asked for anything in exchange and has even brushed off the thanks with an excuse that he can’t afford to have his roommate waste away and leave him to pay the whole rent by himself.

Neither of them are clean freaks but between the two of them, they manage to keep the place halfway decent, hopefully enough to get their deposits back, Filippo doesn’t leave any weird shit in the sink like some of his friends’ roommates do while Nico is allowed to cultivate what his father likes to call his “creative chaos” in his own bedroom.

One thing Niccolò discovers pretty soon after moving in is that Filippo isn’t the quietest roommate there is. It is still a little bit of a shock to the system when he’s woken up by a rendition of some Achille Lauro song on the other side of his bedroom wall on a Saturday morning. Having recovered from being so abruptly jerked awake and with his head shoved under a pillow in the hope of muffling the music, Niccolò takes solace in the knowledge that at least, they won’t get any noise complaints since the space below them is a temp agency that is closed all weekend and that their only neighbor on this floor is a grumpy old lady who, as far as they can tell, is deaf as a post.

Niccolò’s really the only person who could be bothered by it, and surprisingly, he finds that he doesn’t mind that much. On the rare occasions that Niccolò does ask him to turn the volume down, he always happily complies even if he pretends to complain about it. Most of the time, though, and no matter how different their music tastes can be, the joyful background noise made up of loud conversations on the phone, the banging of pots in the kitchen and the occasional off-key rendition of “Good Times” are more soothing than annoying. It reminds him that there is somebody behind the door who will offer homemade food or the best worst horror movies he can find whenever either one of them is in a bad mood.

To celebrate what he dubs their “first monthiversary of not murdering each other”, Filippo invites him along to a bar with a couple of his friends and with the possibility of ending up at a club if all involved parties are up for it. Since he’s moved in, Niccolò hasn’t been out that much as all his professors seemed to have coordinated efforts to drown him in assignments while he was dealing with the ordeal of moving and he had had to pass up on almost all previous invitations. Before he can finally offer a positive answer, however, Filippo makes a point of mentioning right off the bat that the bar in question is on San Giovanni with a look that strives to convey that the continued lack of mutual murder under their roof relies heavily on Nico’s response.

Luckily for both of them, not only doesn’t Niccolò mind but he accepts almost eagerly, which seems to surprise Filippo and Nico hasn’t seen him be frazzled by much in the past month.

He would probably have been eager to go anywhere that is not his desk or the art department after the past few weeks, but more than that, Nico’s never had that many chances to frequent the Gay Street, especially not while being single. He was with Maddalena for a long time and his relationship with Luai had not exactly been the type that could be taken so publicly. Now, accompanied by his new roommate, with the move and the worst of the semester behind him, seems to be as good a time as any to see what it’s all about.

Since he has no idea what their exact destination is, Niccolò is happy to follow along until Filippo suddenly stops to throw both arms in the air and yell, “Rose!” which must mean that they’re here. It gets the attention of a few groups of people smoking outside the nearest bar, some laughing and a couple throwing wolf-whistles without really knowing who to direct them towards. None of them move their way however, except for one guy who appears in the middle of the early-evening crowd before heading in their direction.

The gleam of the streetlights seems to catch on his red hair and he’s wearing a grin even as he shakes his head at Filippo. Niccolò wouldn’t even be able to articulate why he immediately stands out in the crowded street, apart from the fact that the dark blue windbreaker he has zipped up to his chin looks almost quaint in the festive evening air of early March. The guy looks closer in age to Nico than Filippo, he might actually even be younger than he is, and once he stops in front of them, he finally responds at a much more civilized volume, “Hey, Jack.”

Filippo throws one arm around his shoulders and plants a kiss on his cheek before turning the two of them around to face Niccolò.

“Now, Nico, this here is Martino.” Martino gives Niccolò a conspiratorial look that definitely seems to have been perfected from having known Filippo for a while. “He basically comes with the place. He hasn’t been around much lately because he didn’t want to ‘crowd’ you when you had just moved in.” Filippo actually adds the air quotes and the hand he still has around Martino’s shoulders comes very close to his face, earning him a wary look. “But you’re going to have to get used to seeing his ugly mug around, I’m afraid, because he’s usually always there. Now, if he ever tells you he’s hungry, don’t listen, he’s already been fed at home and he doesn’t have permission to raid our cabinets. If he’s bothering you, feel free to stash him in my room with a bowl of water and the window cracked open.” Filippo concludes his little speech by grabbing Martino’s chin and squeezing it, which earns him a punch in the arm.

“I’m not always there,” Martino then offers as he extends his hand toward Niccolò, all politeness and a stark contrast to Filippo’s introduction.

“Sweetheart, yes you are.” Filippo finally lets go of Martino when he notices people waving at him and takes off in their direction with a gesture that Niccolò chooses to interpret as “I’ll be right back” but could probably mean any number of things. They both watch him exchange hugs with two girls before Martino turns back to him.

“I live with my mom,” Martino explains with an apologetic shrug. “Sometimes, it’s nice to get away for a little bit, but I don’t want to get in your way.” His face and open and sincere and Niccolò has an inkling that having Martino in his way may prove to be the opposite of an issue. Before he can actually say it out loud, Filippo calls out for them to meet his friends and they soon find themselves in a conversation about the best party spots in Mykonos.

Time always seems to move at a different, elusive speed in this kind of conversations that bloom between friends of friends on a night out, so when the two girls wave their goodbyes to go join another group of people, Niccolò blinks and the street around them seems to have completely changed while he was not paying attention. People have moved on, other groups have formed, the air has started to smell of weed and alcohol, and music is playing somewhere.

Martino reminds Filippo that he was promised drinks, so all three of them make their way inside the nearest bar, where they find just enough space to squeeze into a corner, which has at least the advantage of giving the drunker people around them fewer chances of knocking their glasses out of their hands and ensures that they can hear each other over the background music and overlapping conversations.

Niccolò learns pretty quickly that Martino is a first-year law student, which he sounds almost apologetic about and which Filippo takes every opportunity to tease him about. He never quite manages to figure out how these two know each other, and the clear comfort between them only begs more questions, but he doesn’t get a chance to satisfy his curiosity on this as the conversation moves on to a different track before taking more and more improbable leaps as they get first, then second, then even more refills and the evening progresses.

At some point, a birthday party leaves the table next to them and through some kind of miracle, they manage to snatch it up from under the nose of a group of girls who don’t seem very happy about it and give them affronted looks when Filippo raises a toast in their honor.

Time becomes a blur again and when plans to join up with other people at a club start to emerge, surprisingly, although the perspective would have seemed alluring earlier in the night, with the stress and exhaustion of the past month fully catching up on him and with the influence of the alcohol on top of it making him crash, Niccolò realizes that all he craves now is a full night’s sleep.

He makes the decision to call it a night while Filippo is in the bathroom. Just as he’s about to mention it out loud, Martino elbows him and nods towards another corner of the bar. As the hour has gotten later, the room has emptied out, so it isn’t hard to find what Martino is pointing out to him, which is Filippo being very obviously flirted with by a visibly drunk guy.

“Filo always says this is a great place to meet people,” Martino comments, amusement evident in his voice.

Across the bar, Filippo is listening with a less-than-impressed expression to the guy who they can tell even from a distance seems to be heavily slurring his words.

“Hm, maybe for a night, but I’m not sure any love connection is going to happen tonight,” Nico laughs as the guy attempts to make a pass at Filippo, only to trip on air and fall all over him. Now looking exasperated, Filippo grabs hold of him and sets out to catch the attention of the guy’s steadier, more sober friends.

“Not for this guy, no.” Martino swirls the remains of his drink in his glass thoughtfully for a few seconds. “But that doesn’t mean everyone who comes here’s only looking for a one-night thing,” he replies, staring at the beer before taking a sip.

Niccolò glances around them. “I think by now we might be at least two or three drinks too late for any more than that.”

The crash of glasses from a nearby table, followed by booing and shouting, interrupts whatever response Martino had been about to make and Niccolò gives him a pointed look.

“Okay, fine,” Martino concedes, albeit grudgingly, “maybe not now. But earlier, there were lots of people flirting and exchanging numbers.”

His words are news to Niccolò, who only now realizes that he hasn’t given the bar much attention and casts a look around at the brightly-painted walls and the artwork covering them. Despite being generally pretty attuned to his surroundings, he had found himself more focused on the conversation, on Martino, than on anything going on around them. Martino, however, had clearly been paying attention. 

“Yeah, I’m still not convinced any great relationship’s going to come out of it, though.”

“Why not?”

Not that Niccolò has anything against meeting people in a bar, while out with a friend - the idea is actually starting to grow on him - it’s never been what he imagined for himself. Rami likes to call him a hopeless romantic for it, but he tends to picture fewer people, a quieter place, maybe meeting someone’s eyes across a room and finding a secluded spot to have a conversation undisturbed by any drunken singing in the background.

Martino puts down his glass and looks up at him expectantly when Filippo makes a hurried return to their table and grabs their arms.

“Can we please get the fuck out of here before he realizes where I’ve gone?”

“Why, you don’t think it's true love?” Niccolò teases, glancing at Martino who only rolls his eyes in answer.

“True love’s not happening tonight, now move!”

They’re out of the bar in a matter of seconds and Niccolò seizes the chance to make his excuses. The other two both look genuinely sorry to let him go and make him promise to join them again another time, which at least comforts him in his decision to cut short his first full night off in a month. They don’t even try to change his mind, and Nico knows that Filippo is not one to shy away from convincing people to follow his lead, which probably means that he looks about as exhausted as he feels.

Before they go their separate way, Martino wishes him a safe journey home with a warm smile and he tries not to get lost in it even before he sets off through the narrow Roman streets back to their place. Filippo grabs his sleeve just as he’s about to turn around.

“Hey, by the way, I might not come home tonight, so don’t be surprised if you can’t find me tomorrow, okay?”

Next to him, Martino scoffs. “That’s pretty presumptuous of you.”

“Is it, though?” Filippo replies, smugness evident in his tone.

With one last wave, Niccolò starts walking in the opposite direction, followed by the sound of Martino bursting into laughter.

As he squeezes past groups of friends and people making out, Niccolò lets the memories of the evening carry him home despite the exhaustion enveloping his entire body, enjoying the buzz of the alcohol coursing through his veins, remembering the ease with which he had seemed to fit between Filippo and Martino, the jokes and the laughter that punctuated the evening, the feeling of having Martino’s rapt attention while he was telling them stories and the butterflies stretching out their wings, ready to take flight in his stomach.

Holding tight to the image of Martino’s eyes crinkling in delight at Driss’s misadventures with an irritable ram on an unfortunate trip to the Alps, Niccolò lets his thoughts drift to Filippo’s insistence that Martino was “always around” and to the fact that it’s been a long time since he’s felt so drawn to anyone. Behind him, already almost forgotten, the animation of a Roman Saturday night fades while each step through the familiar streets temporarily transformed by moonlight takes him closer to home and to the night that stretches out ahead of him, tired but happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to the lovely people who suggested songs for Filippo to annoy Nico with. I couldn't use them all but they were all extremely valid.


	2. Chapter 2

Based on the way everyone around him is always moaning about it, Niccolò figured out a long time ago that a lot of people don’t really like Sundays. Mostly, he gets where they’re coming from, but personally, he would have to disagree. Sundays are lazy and pressure-free, everything comes to a standstill for a day of rest with no obligation to do anything, except wash off the previous week to better face the upcoming one.

So, after a late morning scrolling through YouTube videos and not paying them much attention in favor of enjoying flashes of the previous night, by the time Filippo comes home, he’s lying on the couch in his pyjamas in full Sunday mode. He’s got his laptop perfectly balanced over his stretched-out legs, a load of laundry in the washing machine and no other plans for the afternoon than to read an article for history of contemporary art and maybe find something to binge in his Netflix queue.

“Fares,” Filippo announces himself as he usually does before proceeding to kick off his shoes and head towards the couch with a yawn.

“Sava,” Niccolò replies, putting down the can of Coke he’s been drinking to stave off his surprisingly light hangover. He’s barely deposited it on the coffee table that Filippo drops down onto the couch, not caring in the slightest that Nico hasn’t had time to move his legs out of the way and effectively trapping him here with him. The can hasn’t had a chance to cool down that Filippo grabs it and takes a long sip before giving the laptop a belligerent look.

“You better not be studying right now.”

Niccolò only shrugs in answer before going back to highlighting a section that seems particularly interesting. “It’s just some reading, that barely counts.”

“I can’t believe you’re studying. On a Sunday. It’s the Lord’s day, you heathen.”

“That didn’t stop you from stealing my drink,” Niccolò points out.

“You owe me that much, you’re always eating my food,” Filippo retorts, taking another shameless sip as if to prove his point.

“Because you’re always cooking.”

“Because I don’t want you to starve. Don’t use my own generous soul against me, Fares.”

Niccolò huffs out a laugh and turns his attention away from the article to look at Filippo, who chooses this moment to put down the can and stretch out his arms above his head. Seizing the opportunity, Niccolò snatches it back, mostly out of principle, because it’s pretty clear that he’s not the one the most in need of caffeine.

“So, you had a good night?”

“Pretty good, yeah.” Filippo's reply is muffled as he rubs both hands over his face.

“Did the guy from the bar come back for more, then?”

Filippo gives him an affronted look from above his fingers.

“God, no. That guy could barely stand. I just crashed at a friend’s.”

“Oh, you didn’t meet anybody interesting?”

It’s only because his attention is still divided between his screen and his roommate that Niccolò doesn’t notice that Filippo’s got his eyes on his can again and waits until he scrolls down his screen to the next paragraph to steal it back. He doesn’t fight him however, especially after watching him place the can against his forehead and burrowing further into the sofa.

“I guess not.”

“Sorry,” Nico commiserates, remembering how confident Filippo had been when he had left, even if it must have been mostly alcohol-induced.

“Eh, you win some, you lose some.”

Surprisingly, Filippo then puts down the can of his own free will and heads towards the kitchen where he turns on the coffee machine before carefully shifting the clean dishes by the sink for a dry enough bowl. Niccolò goes back to reading. It doesn’t last for very long.

“But you know who had an even better night than I had?”

There’s something in his tone that makes Nico believe that he knows the answer to that question but that he’d rather not have his suspicions confirmed. If Martino ended up getting luckier than Filippo, then good for him, but he could live without knowing more about it. Disappointment is one thing, he doesn’t need the exact details of how disappointed he should be.

“Martino.”

Of course, his plan only works if Filippo is not hell-bent on him knowing all about it. He rereads the same sentence for the third time and listens to the fridge door opening and closing in quick succession. He glances up to find Filippo holding a bottle of milk and staring at him expectantly.

“He did?” Nico finally concedes because it seems that he won’t be able to avoid the subject.

Leaning against the fridge, Filippo crosses his arms before nodding with a grin on his face.

“He said he met someone pretty great.”

“Really? I missed out on all the action.” At least, he can take comfort in that. Who knew that bailing on the evening would turn out to be a blessing in disguise?

Filippo doesn’t move or answer right away, just gives him a long look.

“Yeah, you definitely missed something.”

He keeps staring for a couple more seconds until Niccolò gives him a questioning look and he goes to set the milk down next to his bowl on the kitchen table.

“Who was it?” Niccolò can’t help but ask, self-preservation be damned.

“Hm?” Filippo, now absorbed in pouring cereal from a box Nico didn't even know they had, doesn’t bother looking up from what he’s doing.

“Who did Martino meet?”

The only answer he gets at first is the rustling of the bag of cereal and the milk being poured before Filippo puts the milk back into the fridge and lets out a long sigh.

“He ran into a very drunk girl on his way home who tried to adopt him. Apparently, she tried to give him pigtails at one point and he was _pissed_.”

Any worry instantly melts from Niccolò’s heart and he’s so relieved that he bursts into laughter at the image that’s just been conjured in his mind. “Do you think we can find her Instagram to see if she took pictures?”

Filippo’s expression lights up. “Shit, I should have asked him if he got her name.” 

He takes out his phone, presumably to do just that even if there are very few chances that the question coming out of the blue will not make Martino suspicious. It would make Nico suspicious and he’s only known Filippo for a month. He spends some time typing but he’s either texting someone else or he doesn’t get any results because no photos of Martino, with or without pigtails, are produced. Nico’s about to go back to his article when something occurs to him.

“You know that I wouldn’t care if you brought a guy back here, right? The walls aren’t that thick, but worst case scenario, I’ve got earplugs.”

Filippo’s head snaps up from his phone. “Excuse me, worst case?”

“Sorry, best case. I mean, maybe not for the guy, but…”

“Fuck off.” Niccolò manages to catch the orange just before it hits him in the chest and throws it right back where it came from. “And thanks for the offer, but I usually prefer to have the option to slip out before morning comes if I want to. It’s much more of a hassle to kick someone out.”

“And what if they want to kick you out?” Niccolò teases.

This time, Filippo doesn’t dignify the provocation with an answer and continues with his own train of thought while he pours himself some coffee. “Although, sometimes you also have to slip out before their creepy roommate can start staring at you from across the room.”

“See, if you don’t want to kick someone out, I could do that.”

Now armed with a cup of coffee and his bowl of cereal, Filippo takes his seat back on the couch, even giving Niccolò a chance to cross his legs and avoid getting trapped again.

“Aw, nobody’s ever offered to look creepy for me.”

“All you gotta do is ask. I’m pretty sure I’ve got fangs somewhere, I could even find them.”

“Easy, let’s not traumatize the poor guy,” Filippo replies, patting him on the arm. “I might want him to come back, so the creepy stare should be more than enough.”

“I’ll do it if you tell me where you hid those cereals.”

Glancing thoughtfully between Nico and his bowl, Filippo ponders the request for a moment before replying. “You know what, I’ll tell you, but you can’t ever tell Marti. The little weasel is always trying to steal my food and these aren't cheap.”

“I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that and also to the creeping guys away thing. Hey,” he adds, pausing to take a sip of coffee, “that goes for you too, by the way. Feel free to bring back anyone.”

Niccolò nods noncommittally and definitely doesn’t picture Filippo’s face if he ended up face to face with Martino coming out of his room. It’s not a train of thought that seems safe to entertain and he’s literally only known Martino for less than 24 hours so he keeps all of it to himself.

“Like that girl... Maddalena?” Filippo trails off until Niccolò hums in confirmation. “Or is that over?”

“No, that’s over.”

“Bad breakup?”

“Not really, we're still friends. But it had kinda been a long time coming.”

It definitely had been but both of them had been reluctant to let go of the familiarity of years of relationship. Now, however, Niccolò was glad that he had and that he and Maddi had been able to go back to the much less fraught friendship they used to have.

“Ugh, do people really do that?”

"What?"

"Be friends with their exes. That sounds like a disaster waiting to happen."

“I don’t know. Maddi and I were friends before, maybe that’s why.” Despite everybody’s assurances that he was only setting himself up for more heartbreak, he was still friends with both his exes. It had taken a while for things to go back to something like normal between him and Luai, but that had been expected given that the circumstances had been everything but normal. “You don’t keep in touch with anybody you dated?”

“In touch, yes, but we’re not friends. Also, that guy Martino dated last summer wanted to try that and let me tell you, that fucking blew up in both of their faces.”

Niccolò’s interest is piqued despite himself as this is the first actual confirmation regarding Martino’s relationship status that he's received so far. “I guess that’s not for everyone.”

“No, probably not. I think that might have put him off from relationships because that boy’s been tragically single ever since.”

When Niccolò looks up from where he had been playing with the tab of his now empty can, he realizes that Filippo’s staring at him again and that there’s something almost unbearably knowing in his eyes. Niccolò decides that he must just be fishing, that maybe he’s the kind of person who is desperate to get a date for his single friend because he refuses to believe that he could have been that obvious and that Filippo could have figured out his interest in Martino in such a short time.

“That’s too bad,” he simply comments, turning his eyes back to his screen.

“You think so?”

“Or maybe not,” Nico counters, refusing to let him get away with whatever he’s doing. “It depends if he minds, I guess.”

“Very true. Next time he comes around, you can ask him yourself. Whenever he decides to show himself around here again.”

Niccolò glances up at him above his screen. “Didn’t you say he was usually always around?”

The smile grows on Filippo’s face. “That he is.”

Niccolò only has to wait until the next Tuesday to get an idea of how true that assertion is.

It’s a perfectly regular afternoon and Niccolò is about to head back to college for his 2pm class. Having made sure that he is not about to forget his laptop charger for the second time in as many days, he goes to unlock the door when he hears the sound of a key turning in the lock coming from the outside. Filippo usually never comes home until late on Tuesdays, so it is with some surprise that he takes a step to the side to avoid any risk of collision. When the door opens, however, his roommate is not the one standing on the threshold. In front of him, Martino takes a step back, visibly startled, before a pleased smile appears on his face.

“Sorry, I assumed you’d be in class.”

Niccolò doesn’t really register the words, currently too stuck on what Martino is still holding in his hand. 

“So, you have a key. You really are here all the time, uh?”

Martino huffs a brief and slightly embarrassed laugh. “Yeah, Filo got tired of finding me waiting on his doormat. You don’t mind if I stay here, right? I have another class at 5 and your place is closer to campus than mine. The law library’s usually full in the afternoon, but I can go...” He points at the staircase behind him, as if he was ready to turn around on the spot and leave, but Niccolò cuts him off with a nod towards the inside of the apartment.

“Oh, no. Don’t worry about it. I have to get to class, but go ahead.”

The breath Martino lets out looks a lot like a relieved sigh and his smile only grows as he walks past Niccolò and they trade places on each side of the door.

“Thanks. Good luck with your class.”

“And good luck with whatever this is,” Niccolò replies, pointing to a massive textbook that is already peeking out of Martino’s half-open backpack.

“It’s political economy.”

Just the name makes Nico wince. “My condolences.”

Martino only shrugs in answer. “Believe it or not, it’s not my worst class. And at least, there’s Filo’s secret stash of snacks to help me get through it.”

The thought of class suddenly pushed aside, Niccolò freezes and gives him a long look. Filippo had made it seem like the cereals were the only thing he kept hidden, and Martino wasn’t even supposed to know about it, but could his roommate have possibly concealed more from him for an entire month?

“Filo has a secret stash?”

With a victorious grin, Martino slowly nods and closes the door in his face.

Two days later, Niccolò comes home from class drenched by a sudden downpour that his weather app has assured him was only due two hours later to find the door to Filippo’s room open and Martino rummaging in there in search of a charger since his had died an early death just the day before.

In exchange for Nico’s own charger, Martino reveals the location of what is indeed a secret stash at the bottom of Filippo’s closet, which is ironic in its own kind of way. Before heading back to his study session reassured that he’s not going to end the day phoneless, Martino holds out his phone towards Niccolò.

“Actually, can I get your number? Filo doesn’t always answer his phone, so maybe next time, I could text you as well, just in case.”

He’s waiting with the phone between them, and there is no way to deny that he may need something and Filippo may not be available or one of them could lose or forget their key. So, really, getting Martino’s number is simply a matter of showing foresight and being practical.

Now that Martino seems satisfied that he’s not intruding, Niccolò soon realizes that he had truly been holding out. He is, in fact, kind of here all the time. Niccolò kind of doesn’t mind at all.

He is at their flat at least three times a week, a well-oiled routine that he and Filippo seem to have developed and in which, unlike his predecessor who liked to keep to herself, Niccolò fits right in. Depending on the week, Martino may show up after class or in the evenings and Filippo will be expecting him, but Nico occasionally finds him on his own, curled up on their sofa, looking perfectly at home, his forehead screwed up in concentration over the ever-changing law books he always rests on his lap. Martino doesn’t seem to have any qualms about using Nico’s number for things outside of key emergencies either so in just a few days, they’re texting basically whenever Martino’s not at the flat. Sometimes, even when he is and Martino’s trying to annoy Filippo.

Between all the texting, Martino’s constant presence at the flat or whenever they go out and the fact that Niccolò finds out about two weeks after meeting him that Martino has a toothbrush at their place and that he is the only one actually drinking the jasmine tea that Filippo insists on keeping stocked, they move right past acquaintances without a backward glance into private jokes, movie nights and each of them having an assigned spot on the sofa. It happens pretty fast, but it’s still enough for Niccolò to learn a lot about Martino in the process.

He learns that Martino is funny and sarcastic, as happy to dish out the teasing as he is to take it, but also warm and snappish in turn, although never usually for very long. It doesn’t take Nico very long to understand how he and Filippo get on so well. Occasionally withdrawn and quiet for no apparent reason, he usually lets himself be drawn out with patience and distractions and sometimes with the help of Filippo’s not-so-secret snacks.

Another thing he learns is that Martino is curious. That trait applies to most things and even at his quietest, his eyes are always searching, his fingers inspecting and his attention drinking in anything that passes around him. Niccolò himself seems to be a particular subject of curiosity on his part, which he assumes is by virtue of being a new thing in Martino's life, and he relishes the attention like a breath of fresh air. The first time Martino lets himself in, making as usual a liberal use of his key, to find Niccolò sketching at the kitchen table, he gets a little wide-eyed and a little slack-jawed when he realizes what he’s doing. It’s been a while since anybody has been genuinely appreciative of anything Nico makes instead of mocking or competitive as some of the other students from his classes can be. Even when Filippo asks what he is working on, he never really seems to care that much about any commentary on intentions or influences. Martino listens intently, handling the doodles on torn out pieces of paper like they’re works of art. There’s no way to know if he actually gets any of what Nico tells him, but that doesn’t matter.

Martino is so painfully earnest in everything he does, Niccolò's not sure he could get away with any lie even if he tried. It spurs something deep inside Niccolò, in some secret place lodged behind his ribs, and makes him want to lay himself bare and open up about things he usually keeps close to his chest. He cannot even know with certainty that Martino wouldn't run for the hills, but the feeling is there, bright and gripping tight inside of him, that even if he would not always understand, he would want to try, just like he tries to get the reference to Savinio in a sketch of Nico’s desk.

Whenever Niccolò falls, he always falls quick and hard, for friends and lovers alike, for a soft melody on a piano or an artwork in a museum and falling for Martino is the easiest thing in the world. So, by the time April rolls around without any care for anything that goes in in the small apartment, it’s almost unthinkable to believe that there was a time when Martino did not spent his Tuesday afternoons on their sofa with a different textbook every week or that Friday nights would not find the three of them bent over their phones and leftover pizza, looking for the best weekend plans.


	3. Chapter 3

Almost two months into his cohabitation with Filippo, on the evening of what had started as a pretty regular Saturday, Niccolò is alone.

After much consideration, he had sent a text and cancelled the plans he had with two girls from one of his class, hoping that his explanation that he was not feeling it would not beg further prying. Fortunately, the girl from modern history who had issued the invitation hadn’t even questioned it and just offered a few sympathetic platitudes and assurances that he could always join them later if he changed his mind. Back then, a few hours ago, Niccolò had already thought it highly unlikely that it would happen and as the evening progressed, it had become clear that he would not have been up to deal with all the socializing required on an evening out, no matter how friendly the company was.

So, instead of being out having fun, he ended up nestled in a blanket and with his laptop on the sofa in an attempt to distract himself from the comprehensive list of his recent failures currently running through his mind. The contrast between the twirling of his thoughts and the silent apartment is jarring and grating on his nerves, so he’s got the volume turned unnecessarily high in the hope to somehow balance it out while he tries to commit the moons of Jupiter to memory as they appear on his screen. He’s on his second episode of a documentary series on the solar system he had picked in the hope that it would turn his mind to things much bigger than him. The Sun hadn’t done much for his mood, but maybe Jupiter‘s endless storms could quiet his own.

He doesn’t hear the key turn in the lock, so when the door suddenly opens, he startles and his laptop slips onto the couch from where he had perched it over his knees. The narrator smoothly transitions from Callisto to Ganymede while the figure in the doorway steps inside and reveals itself to be Martino, who pushes the hood of his sweatshirt off his face and looks about as frazzled as Nico himself.

“Sorry, I didn’t think you’d be home.” Martino’s voice is uncommonly flat and barely manages to cover the drone coming from the laptop. As he steps further under the light from the kitchen, the only source of brightness in the room, Niccolò turns down the volume before studying his expression more closely. From the downturn to his mouth to the dullness in his eyes, not to mention the guarded way he’s holding himself, Martino seems to be having more or less the same kind of night as he is.

“Filo’s not here.” Nico can’t help his apologetic tone as he tells Martino that the comfort that he might have been looking for cannot even be provided.

Filippo has been gone and unreachable for the past two days, as has happened twice before already. Both times, he had reappeared with dark circles under his eyes - and on one occasion with his brown hair turned pink - before crashing in his room for a minimum of 12 hours.

On Friday, he had texted Nico to let him know not to expect him, but his text hadn’t mentioned anything about Martino coming over, especially not at 1 in the morning. As much as he would enjoy it on any other day, now the unexpected company is throwing Niccolò off.

“No, I know.” Martino shuffles his feet and the way his shoulders sag makes him look much smaller and younger all of a sudden. He glances around the room and doesn’t quite meet Niccolò’s eyes. “I don’t really want to go home. Can I stay here? I won’t bother you.”

If there is one place Martino would never be unwelcome apart from his own home, Niccolò thinks to himself, it is probably this very apartment and he suspects that might be what brought him here even if he didn’t expect anybody to be home.

“Of course, you can stay. Do you want anything…” He’s about to stand up to offer him something to drink, maybe some food despite Filippo’s strict instructions, but Martino cuts him off immediately, waving his hand in a negative gesture.

“No, I’m fine.” He looks around again and his eyes land on a point somewhere behind Niccolò. “I think I’ll just take a shower.”

“Sure, just take anything you need. I guess you know where everything is,” he adds in an attempt at levity.

The words fall flat even to his own ears, but the awkward tension in the room does seem to fizzle away slightly and it gets Martino to look at him again. It only lasts a second but what feels like recognition passes between them, a sense that they both know the other is also going through something and that neither of them wants to talk about it.

“Thanks.” Martino offers a brief smile that seems genuine at least before disappearing into the bathroom.

Once he’s alone again, the cheerful tone coming from his laptop brings Niccolò’s attention back to it. He stretches out his legs to settle again and continues watching, now dividing his attention between the shuffling in the next room and the volcanoes of Io.

The shower runs, then stops. A few minutes pass in silence and Saturn’s rings are now slowly rotating on the screen when he becomes aware that Martino is standing just outside the bedroom doors, his hair wet, still wearing his hoodie and having apparently borrowed pyjama pants from Filippo’s room, which he’s pretty sure his roommate will not approve of whenever he decides to rejoin the real world.

When he realizes he’s being watched, Martino seems to get back to himself from whatever train of thoughts he had been following.

“Can I watch with you?”

Without hesitation, Niccolò pauses the video and moves aside to make room for him. “Sure.”

He puts the laptop down on the table and takes the opportunity to plug it in because the battery sometimes decides to shut everything down before even warning him when it gets low. Martino settles next to him, folding his knees against his chest and wrapping his arms around them. At the way he tucks his chin between his knees and breathes in a deep inhale that looks like a shiver, Niccolò can’t help but think that he looks cold.

Before the silence of the flat can swallow them both, he unpauses the documentary and unfolds the blanket he had been wrapped in, silently offering half of it to Martino, who accepts it with murmured thanks. 

They watch quietly, shoulder against shoulder as a small point of contact anchoring them to the here and now, as on the screen, an animated Cassini spacecraft gets vaporized on its entrance into the atmosphere. Niccolò can empathize.

When the option to skip to the next episode pops up, Niccolò turns to Martino to ask how he feels about Neptune, only to find him sound asleep, his head resting against the back of the couch, mouth half-open and his entire body relaxed.

Moving carefully, Niccolò mutes the laptop and surrenders his half of the blanket to wrap it around Martino. Comforted by the presence of another human being in the vicinity, staying in his shoebox of a bedroom doesn’t seem quite so daunting anymore so he picks up the laptop and gets into bed, ready for the ice giant.

The hiss and gurgle of the coffee machine draw Niccolò from his slumber the next morning, although not without difficulty. He stretches out his right arm from under his chest only to bump it against the laptop still sitting by his head and that he only manages to catch before it tumbles to the ground by a stroke of luck. Nothing happens when he presses a random key on the keyboard, so the battery must have died after he fell asleep somewhere around Venus. His head feels foggy and he’s still tired, but when a low hum comes from behind the wall as Martino moves around in the kitchen, he finds the energy to push his covers aside and get up.

“Did I wake you?” Martino’s expression turns sheepish when he steps into the main room, rubbing his eyes to try and kickstart his brain into a coherent thought.

“Not you, really, just this old thing.” He gestures towards the ancient espresso machine. “I think it sounds even noisier from my room than from here.”

“Sorry.” Martino doesn’t sound all that apologetic, but Nico figures he might not be either if he was also holding what looks like a very strong espresso right now. “And sorry for falling asleep last night. It was kind of a long day,” he explains with a half-shrug before taking a sip of coffee and immediately wincing as if he had burned himself.

"You should be, we were about to get to Neptune and all the good stuff."

He glances towards the coffee pot and Martino follows his gaze before pulling another cup from one of the cupboards and filling it as well. The memory of Filippo introducing Martino briefly flashes through Niccolò’s mind and with it his denial about always being at the flat. The familiarity with which he moves around the kitchen and finds everything he needs certainly belies the words now.

"Oh no,” Martino replies with a short laugh, “and it's my favorite."

He hands over the cup of coffee which Nico accepts gratefully.

"Really? Neptune?"

"You got anything against Neptune?"

"No, I'm just curious. It's not a very obvious choice,” Nico comments as he holds the cup between both hands, letting the smell being to clear away his head.

Martino takes a seat at the small kitchen table and seems to ponder his answer.

"OK, maybe not my favorite. But when I was a kid, I had this big poster of the solar system next to my bed. Neptune was right in front of me, and it was this really cool shade of blue. It must have caught my eye.”

Having remembered that, against appearances, he is supposed to be the host here, Niccolò fishes the remains of a bag of almond biscuits from the back of one of his shelves and deposits it between them with some orange juice as he joins Martino at the table.

"And you like blue, uh? Who could have guessed?"

Compared to when he had stumbled into the flat last night, Martino's mood seems to have been turned around overnight, and although Niccolò’s is still struggling to pick up, it’s easy to respond to Martino’s energy and to the lighter atmosphere in the flat.

"What’s your favorite, then?" Martino shoots back, ignoring the dig.

"I like Ceres,” he offers while reaching out for the juice and filling his glass almost to the brim.

"Ceres?” Martino repeats with a frown. “That’s not a planet. Did you make it up?"

"No, it's real. But technically, it's a dwarf planet." At his words, Martino makes a face as if he was about to scold him for cheating the rules and he laughs. “Hey, you didn’t say it had to be a planet.”

“I’ll give you a pass, but just this once.” Martino dips a cookie into what is left of his coffee before continuing with the searching look he usually sports when he wants to figure something out, “What’s so special about Ceres?”

Niccolò isn’t actually sure what is so special about it, except for an attachment he had formed to this random astronomical object nobody around him really cared about during his space phase when he was 12. All he remembers is what had captured his imagination then.

"I like it because they can’t quite figure it out.”

“What do you mean?”

Niccolò sits back in his chair and takes a well-deserved sip of orange juice. “So, the guy who discovered it, based on what they knew back then, thought that it was a comet. Later, somebody else studied it and he thought that it must be a planet. Then another guy discovered that there was a whole asteroid belt in that area, so he called it an asteroid. And now, since dwarf planets became a thing, that’s what they call it. Maybe someday, they’ll find another term for it, and they’ll change it again. All these years, it’s still the same ball of rock, but it’s also a little bit of a mystery.”

Martino nods with interest. “I get that.”

“And of course, it was called after the goddess of grain and harvest,” Niccolò adds as he pushes around some crumbs on the table.

That gets him another look, but this one is pretty blank and uncomprehending. "And?"

"And without grain, we wouldn't have pasta, Marti."

The small interested smile on Martino’s face turns into a grin. "Oh, so that was all bullshit and you only like it because it's Planet Pasta."

Niccolò can feel his expression mirror Martino’s as he replies with a helpless gesture, “Shit, you got me."

Under the influence of both coffee and orange juice as well as the comfort and familiarity of sitting here with Martino talking about whatever comes to their minds, Niccolò is starting to feel marginally lighter, at least enough to bear the weight of last night's weariness for now.

“Earth is okay, also, I guess,” Martino suddenly adds, almost as an afterthought.

“Oh, right. I hear the oxygen to nitrogen ratio is pretty good.”

“It’s got some nice trees and a lot of water.”

“And,” Niccolò adds, nodding towards Martino, “it’s also blue.”

Martino, however, makes a doubtful face. “Not as blue as Neptune.”

“No, I guess not,” Nico huffs out a laugh. “But I think the atmosphere may be slightly more breathable.”

With a sigh, Martino puts his chin in his hand. “That’s true. Earth will have to do, I guess."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just FYI, next week is going to be really busy and I'm going to try to post the next 2 chapters very soon, so if I don't respond to any potential comments in the meantime, it's just that I'm in way over my head.  
> 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your kind comments, have a very dumb chapter.

A few hours later, they’re watching the Neptune episode, again in Niccolò’s case, while Martino nudges him every time the narrator points out a feature of the planet that seems to underline its superiority, when the door opens and Filippo walks in, looking remarkably more put together than he usually does when he comes back from one of his mysterious adventures. He barely bats an eye at finding the two of them on the sofa with a laptop between them, simply gives them a lazy wave and hands a bottle over to Niccolò with no explanation.

“Fares,” he says before making a beeline for his bedroom.

“Sava,” Nico calls out after him as he attempts to decipher the label of what turns out to be Czech vodka.

Filippo then disappears into the bathroom before he can ask for some context, maybe a backstory, as to how the bottle ended up in his possession and Martino leans over his shoulder to see what it is.

“I’m assuming that’s just the traditional Sunday Sava offering.”

“In my experience, it’s better not to question the gifts. Knowing isn’t always worth it,” Martino replies, crinkling his nose in a way that seems to imply that he has a shelf of various beverages of dubious origins somewhere in his own bedroom.

Once he’s given the bottle cap a closer look and found that it is definitely still sealed, Niccolò decides that he’s not one to look the gift vodka in the mouth.

“I’d offer you some,” he says as he puts down the bottle on the coffee table behind the laptop, “but vodka at 4pm on a Sunday sounds just a little bit too sad.”

Martino raises his cup of jasmine tea in a toast.

“Yes, I think I’m good.”

Niccolò turns his attention back to Neptune’s moons, only to notice Martino looking at him for a second before pausing the video.

“Speaking of which...” he begins, immediately cutting himself off and looking down. Nico sits up on the couch, full of curiosity. “About last night...” Curiosity gives way to discomfort as he remembers that Martino had found him home alone on a Saturday night and clearly not in the best of moods and that, of course, he would have wondered about it. Shifting in his seat, Niccolò picks up the cushion that he had been resting his head on to pick at a frayed thread. “I didn’t ask before, but you want to talk about it?” It’s a simple question asked with no agenda, and yet, it’s a question Niccolò always dreads.

“Not really.” It’s hard to tell because his demeanor doesn’t change that much but Martino’s expression falls slightly and he seems almost disappointed. “Nothing happened, I was just in my head, you know?”

At least, that seems to reassure Martino because he simply nods understandingly in that way that always takes Niccolò by surprise. He doesn’t reply but he doesn’t press the matter either, and any discomfort melts away.

“What about you?” he returns the question, because if he had been alone at home, Martino had been seeking refuge at their place and there must also be a reason for that.

“It was stupid.”

“I doubt that.”

Martino lets out a long exhale and pushes himself further into the couch, bringing his knees against his chest the same way he had done the night before. “I was out with some people from college. They seemed fine in class, but they’re actually kinda annoying. After about an hour, it just got boring as fuck. And I think...”

Picking out his phone next to him, Martino starts twirling it between his fingers absent-mindedly as he trails off.

“Yes?”

For several seconds, Martino looks like he’s about to say something but the words don’t come out. To give him an out, Niccolò pushes play on the laptop again and turns the volume down. They watch Voyager 2 travel through space for a moment before Martino speaks again.

“It’s just that a lot of people I knew from high school are gone. They’re travelling or they’re studying someplace else.” A diagram detailing the composition of Neptune’s atmosphere appears on the screen and Niccolò was right, it’s definitely not that breathable. After a few seconds, Martino continues, “There are a couple of people left, but it’s not really the same.”

The words are reluctant but Martino doesn’t take them back or try to brush them off. After a long inhale, he adds, in an ever quieter voice. “I guess I kinda miss them.”

Niccolò keeps his eyes on the screen and thinks about some of his own friends, left behind with time. Although he’s been out of high school for two years and he’s had time to get used to it and appreciate the freedom that comes with it, he does remember leaving high schools, two of them, and feeling something similar knowing that in just a summer, everything had suddenly changed.

“I told you it was stupid,” Martino starts again when he doesn’t receive any answer.

“No, I get it. Finishing high school is awesome, but it also sucks. You see the same 30 people every day for years and then you end up in the middle of hundreds of people that come from all over and you’ve got to start up all over again.”

When he turns back to Martino, he looks pleasantly surprised and puts his feet back on the ground to sit up and nod in assent.

“Right? And first-year law has just so many people and some of them get so fucking competitive over nothing.”

At the vehemence in his words, Niccolò wonders if that’s why Martino spends so much of his time on their couch, if Filippo who, from what he’s gathered, he has known for years, is his last anchor to high school while university life may not have quite lived up to his expectations.

“Marti?” Filippo’s voice emerges from the open bathroom door, surprising them both. “Care to explain why there’s a pair of pyjama pants in the bathroom that I know I’ve just washed?”

“I needed something to sleep in, didn’t I?”

“And you couldn’t ask the one roommate who was actually here?”

Filippo steps into the living room, dressed in his robe and gestures towards Nico. It prompts Martino to turn in his direction and give him a pondering look which makes Niccolò wonder if he’s trying to come up with an excuse. It would have made sense for Martino to ask him and he certainly wouldn’t have minded sharing.

“You always say to make myself at home,” is the answer Martino finally settles for.

“I wish you took everything I say that much to heart.”

“Truth is, Filo,” Martino starts again with a shit-eating grin that bodes nothing good, “I was afraid that you might feel replaced.” His answer makes it clear that the only excuse he might be able to provide is pure force of habit, which makes even plainer than it already was to Niccolò how at home Martino feels here.

They watch Filippo step around the coffee table to come stand next to Martino and plant both hands on the arm of the sofa so they can be on the same eye level.

“Marti, I say this from the bottom of my heart, please replace me.”

When Martino simply laughs at his answer before returning his attention to Neptune, Filippo heads to the kitchen where he gets himself a huge glass of water and comes back to the sofa. He makes a vague shooing motion at Martino who shuffles closer to Niccolò to make room for him.

Once the screen suggests moving on to Venus again, and if they keep going, Nico is going to know the whole series by heart, not that he minds, Filippo exercises his veto and begs for something with a little more action to it or they’ll have to deal with him falling asleep on the both of them indiscriminately. They start scrolling through his queue until Martino suddenly points to the screen, commenting that he’s never seen _The Umbrella Academy_. Neither have Filippo or Niccolò, so they settle on it and all three of them lean back into the sofa to watch.

Less than 5 minutes into the episode, Niccolò is already barely paying attention, letting his thoughts drift to high school friends again, to wondering what Driss is up to these days or how Maddalena is surviving medical school as he hasn’t heard from either of them in a while, and to the fact that despite the sofa being big enough to accommodate all three of them, Martino is pressed next to him while Filippo seems to have much more breathing room.

When a buzzing can be heard, they all automatically glance towards their respective phones. Martino is the one who picks up his own and whatever he sees on the screen makes him light up. The next few minutes of the show don’t make any more of a mark on Niccolò’s memory as Martino spends them enthralled in his text conversation and smiling the whole time.

Niccolò can’t help but be ticked off by it and he stretches his neck to try to see the name of whoever Martino is texting back so eagerly. His attempt is abruptly interrupted when someone flicks the side of his head and he looks up to find Filippo with his arm stretched out behind Martino and smirking at him.

To take the attention away from himself, Niccolò nudges Martino, who seems completely oblivious to what is happening literally behind his back.

“You asked for that show and you’re not even watching it.”

Martino looks up and his smile quickly turns into a slightly confused expression at finding both Niccolò and Filippo much closer to him than they had been at the start of the episode.

“Yeah, Marti, who’s the boy?” Filippo singsongs, ignoring the way Nico bats at his arm to make him shut up.

“It’s Gio,” Martino replies enthusiastically, still blissfully unaware of the looks being exchanged behind him. “I texted him last night on my way here, but he was out.”

Niccolò’s heard about Gio. A lot. Almost all of Martino’s stories that revolve around high school and a good portion of the rest seem to involve him. The fact that he’s the one distracting Martino would only add to his aggravation if Martino didn’t also talk at length about Eva, especially about the way both of them keep talking to him about each other and how annoying he seems to find it.

“How’s your better half?” Filippo asks and Niccolò can’t help but suspect that he is somehow doing this on purpose. Doing what exactly, he isn’t sure, but he has an ulterior motive, that’s almost certain.

“Apparently, he can’t follow half of his classes because the teachers have a Scottish accent and…”

“Yeah, okay,” Filippo interrupts impatiently with a dismissive gesture, “but did you ask him?”

“Ask him what?”

Martino is typing a reply so he doesn’t notice Filippo pointedly staring at him until he finally looks up.

“You know what.”

It takes another second but the moment when Martino gets it is clear as he mumbles “for fuck’s sake” before turning his attention back to his phone with a slight shake of the head. Niccolò tries again to peek over his shoulder to figure out what’s happening, his curiosity piqued by the whole exchange, but the way Martino is leaning over the phone blocks it off from his view. The phone buzzes and all three of them sit up to learn the answer to a question only two of them are aware of.

“He says that if he finds a kilt, he’ll send you a picture.”

Filippo raises his hand in triumph above Martino’s head and Niccolò obligingly gives him the high-five he’s clearly expecting. “See, that’s why everyone loves him best.”

“Yeah, I still wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you,” Martino counters with a laugh.

“Listen, it’s basically the only perk of doing a semester in Scotland. If he didn’t want to do it, he should have been smarter and gone to Barcelona with his girlfriend.”

“Actually, I think he might agree with you on that.”

From what he had gathered from Martino’s many rants on the topic, both Eva and Gio had decided to take things slow after getting back together at the end of high school and had somehow figured that going to two different countries for their semesters abroad was a good idea. A good idea that had lost all its appeal as soon as they had boarded their respective flights.

“You know,” Filippo starts in a tone that immediately makes Niccolò suspicious again, “there really is something to be said for meeting someone who lives in the same city as you.”

When Niccolò leans over to give him a questioning expression, he finds his roommate already looking back. Between them, Martino is also staring at Filippo but Niccolò can’t see his expression from where he is sitting.

“Weren’t they both in high school with you?” Nico asks, nudging Martino with his arm.

“Yes,” Martino replies perfunctorily, turning back to him.

“So,” Niccolò points out, “they _were_ in the same city when they met.”

“Yeah, but wouldn’t it make their life easier if they were both still in Rome, you know, kind of always around each other, hanging out…” Filippo trails off with a significant look in his direction. Feeling like Filippo might be a little overdramatic, Niccolò glances towards Martino, who has gone back to smiling down at his phone and doesn’t chime in.

“It’s just a semester, they’ll probably survive,” Niccolò points out.

“Ah, but proximity’s a powerful magnet, who knows what could happen?”

At this point, Martino slaps his shoulder to cut him off, drawing an offended yelp. “They’re your friends, Marti, aren’t you worried about how things could turn out?”

“I think they’ll be fine,” Martino states with finality before putting his phone down next to the laptop. The show has now long been forgotten and Niccolò wouldn’t have any idea where they left off anyway, having barely followed what little they had effectively watched. Neither Filippo nor Martino make any move to pick it up either, so instead, Niccolò gladly burrows into the sofa, trying to blink away the wave of sleepiness that is starting to wash over him.

“What about the others?” Filippo suddenly asks and by the way Martino startles against him, he must have been dozing off as well. “Remind me where they all went.”

“Eli’s in Turin and Luca’s…”

“Going to get punched by a kangaroo, right,” Filippo interrupts, which draws a scowl from Martino.

“He’s doing a gap year in Australia,” he informs Niccolò before turning back to Filippo. “And he’s not going to get punched by anything.”

“Yes, he will,” Filippo insists, directing his words to Nico as well.

Niccolò’s phone starts buzzing on the table approximately at the same time as Martino starts arguing with Filippo about something to do with Luca and various past incidents so he doesn’t pay them any mind, especially when he catches his grandmother’s name on the screen.

He’s startled to discover at the same time that it’s now 5 in the afternoon, which is when she calls every Sunday without fail. He’s not even sure they hear him when he excuses himself quickly to his room to pick up the call. As he closes the door behind him, his grandmother’s cheerful greeting winds itself with an outburst from Martino about a situation involving Luca, a bike and a phone booth that was apparently completely unavoidable.


	5. Chapter 5

Most of the conversation is spent describing in great details the latest developments in his grandmother’s feud with her next-door neighbor and Niccolò alternatively commiserating and offering ideas to make his life slightly more miserable as the need arises. By the time they hang up, she has devised a new convoluted plan to put in place over the next week that involves stealing his newspaper and Niccolò walks back into the living room to find Martino grabbing his shoes by the front door.

“Fares, are you already done? Are you trying to keep me and Filomena apart?” Filippo calls from the kitchen as soon as he catches sight of him.

“You talked to her once,” Nico points out, wishing he had known better than to hand over the phone to him that day when his grandmother had been feeling particularly chatty and curious about his roommate.

“And it was love at first phone call. Nobody understands what we have,” he informs Martino who is busy tying up his shoes.

“Aren’t you a little young to be trying to become Nico’s grandfather?”

“Who knows, maybe he’d start listening when I boss him around.”

Niccolò barely pays attention to Filippo’s words and joins Martino just when he straightens up.

“Are you going?”

“Yes, my mom will be waiting for me. And I have an essay to finish that’s due tomorrow.”

“Political economy never stops, does it?”

“I do have other classes, you know,” Martino replies with a smile.

They stand looking at each other for a beat and Niccolò wonders why it feels so final when Martino is at their place at least twice a week and they usually go out together almost every weekend. It might be the odd intimacy of the previous night, the words that hadn’t even needed to be exchanged for both their burdens to feel a little lighter in the morning, sharing a blanket and attempting to figure out the secrets of the universe together. Either the thought shows on his face or Martino is feeling something similar because he’s the first one to break the silence.

“Thanks for letting me crash and for, you know…” He briefly glances behind Nico, presumably at Filippo, who can be heard chopping something, and gestures in the general direction of the couch. Niccolò understands his reluctance at uttering the words out loud. It would beg explanations that he’s not sure either of them can provide. “I’ve got a private law exam on Tuesday, so I’ll probably be doing some last-minute cramming on your couch.”

Every Tuesday, after exchanging brief greetings and trading places at the door, Niccolò spends the bike ride to class wondering if he should have tried to switch his Tuesday afternoon class to stay home, maybe figure out what Martino finds so fascinating in these textbooks of his or even get some sketching practice in at the same time. He’s not sure what it would have been like, but he imagines it might have felt something like today.

“Then maybe you should bring your own snacks, then.” Filippo’s voice suddenly rises up from behind them, bursting the bubble that had seemed to form around them. “Because I’ve moved my stash, you fucking thief.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” No matter how innocent Martino tries to make his tone, he can’t hide the grin that he addresses to Niccolò before opening the door and stepping out. “See you Tuesday.” It sounds almost like a question, which is odd because Nico is always here and has always been here, just about to leave, whenever Martino showed up.

“See you Tuesday.” He lowers his voice to add, “I’ll find his new stash by then.”

“No, you fucking won’t,” Filippo replies, dropping his knife a little louder than necessary on the cutting board.

“Bye, Filo.”

With a quick wave, Martino is suddenly off and disappearing down the stairs.

Niccolò closes the door behind him and turns around. In front of him, leaning against the countertop, Filippo is levelling him with a searching look.

“Sava.”

“Fares.”

“You have something to say?”

Filippo makes a show of putting down his knife, looking up towards the ceiling and thoughtfully tapping his chin with one finger.

“Nope. Just making stir fry, thinking about the best way to chop broccoli.” He grabs the knife again in one hand and the doomed vegetable in the other. “And you, you’ve got any insights to share?”

“About chopping broccoli?” Niccolò huffs a laugh in answer and steps to the coffee table and his abandoned laptop which is probably about to die. “Not really.”

“Filomena would be so disappointed,” Filippo comments, seemingly to himself. The broccoli dilemma must be resolved, though, as the chopping sounds resume.

Once he’s plugged in his laptop, whatever they had been watching before now well and truly forgotten, Niccolò contemplates tackling the homework he hasn’t finished, but it sounds so utterly unappealing that he busies himself in his room instead, cleaning up some of the clothes that have piled up during the week and trying to give some semblance of order to the mess on his desk.

When he heads back into the living room with the intent of checking on the papyrus and the yucca that tend to go thirsty unless he waters them himself, Filippo is sitting on the couch, watching a video on his phone while something that smells delicious is cooking in the oven.

“What happened to the stir fry?” He asks curiously.

Filippo shrugs and does not even look up at him. “It wasn’t meant to be.”

Accepting that this is just one more mystery he will never have the answer to, Niccolò pours an entire pitcher at the foot of the papyrus, which proceeds to gratefully absorb the whole thing within seconds. Now officially out of things to do - as he is still not desperate enough for homework - he joins Filippo on the couch and picks up one of the copies of _National Geographic_ that tend to appear on their coffee table just as mysteriously as the still untouched vodka. He’s three paragraphs into a travel guide about Kyrgyzstan when Filippo elbows him in the arm.

“Hey, by the way…” He starts, waiting until he has Niccolò’s full attention to continue. “I thought you had plans to go out last night.”

After whatever he had been doing for almost three days, Niccolò was not expecting him to remember the projects he had mentioned only in passing before his roommate disappeared.

“Yes, but I didn’t really feel like going out.”

“Really?” Filippo pauses for a moment, scrolling briefly through his phone. “Did something happen?”

Something about the way he asks the question feels familiar to Niccolò and he will blame it on sleep deprivation that it takes him a few seconds to identify why. It’s the tone he uses, the well-meaning, careful tone of people trying to be supportive or to get him to talk about what’s on his mind. How receptive he is willing to be to the tone is highly dependent on a number of factors that he doesn’t entirely control.

Tonight, he can’t find it in himself to begrudge Filippo for it, partly because he’s content and tired after the day he’s just had and partly because Filippo hasn’t so far been one to condescend, overdo sympathy or hover unnecessarily, even when Nico was drowning in assignments during his first month here.

“No, nothing. I wasn’t in the mood, that’s all. We’ll probably just go next week.”

Instead of dropping it like he usually does when Niccolò is not volunteering information, he insists, “But everything’s okay?”

Niccolò abandons the magazine in favor of studying Filippo, who has put away his phone and is wearing a concerned expression. Filippo doesn’t have any particular reason to suspect anything and people change their mind about going out all the time, including the two of them. He wasn’t even here last night to notice that anything might be wrong, which to Niccolò can only mean one thing.

“Did Martino say something?”

To Filippo’s credit, he doesn’t even try to deny it. “Just in passing. He mentioned that you were home when he came here.”

Of course, Martino had asked pretty much the same thing earlier in the day and he hadn’t insisted when given a vague answer, but that didn’t mean he had completely brushed it off. For a moment, the thought that they talked about him behind his back doesn’t sit well with Niccolò, no matter how good their intentions were.

When he doesn’t say anything, Filippo sits up and props himself up with his arm resting on the back of the sofa.

“Sorry, we weren’t trying to pry. Marti didn’t say much, I think he just wanted to make sure there wasn't anything really bad going on. You can tell me to fuck off if it’s none of my business and I’ll gladly pass it on to him, too. Trust me, Martino is very used to hearing it from me.”

A smile tugs at Niccolò’s lips. “Are you sure it’s not the other way around?”

“How dare you, I’m a saint,” Filippo shoots back, before resuming a more casual position and picking up his phone again but waiting as if to leave the option of continuing or closing the conversation up to Nico.

The uneasy feeling starts to fade and Niccolò realizes that he believes him.

“There wasn’t anything bad. It’s just like I said, I wasn’t in the mood. I kind of felt like shit, so I stayed in, that’s it. I’m fine now.”

Filippo simply nods and accepts the explanation. “Okay. My thing could have had better timing, I kinda wish I could have been home.”

“Honestly, Filo, I’m not sure it would have made much of a difference.”

Even though Niccolò doesn’t mean anything particular by it, of course, Filippo jumps at the chance to clutch his chest in mock horror despite not managing to hold back a grin at his own antics. “Shit, Fares, tell me how you really feel.”

“You know what I mean.”

Filippo drops the act just as fast as he put it on.

“I do, but in the future, if you think it might make a difference, call me, okay?”

Niccolò may not have any idea what Filippo does on his mystery weekends, but that doesn’t mean he’s not imagined a variety of scenarios, from secret societies and masquerade balls to more unsavory endeavors he’d rather not know the details of or even Filippo having a secret passion for bingo, so the thought of having to interrupt any of these draws a laugh from him.

“Like you’d answer your phone when you vanish like that.”

“I could.” Both his expression and his tone are serious enough that Niccolò now has no doubt that he would actually rush home, dressed in a cloak and a plague doctor mask or incomplete bingo card in hand.

“Okay, then I will.”

At that, he picks up the magazine again and Filippo takes the hint, unlocking his phone to start scrolling again next to him.

The quiet lasts for all of five minutes before Filippo puts his phone down next to him decisively.

“Hey, what was next on the list?”

Dragged away from admiring pictures of Lake Kol Suu, Niccolò takes the time to blink and understand what he’s talking about before he answers.

“It’s right behind you, you could look for yourself.”

“But I’d have to turn around, it’s way easier for you to look.”

It actually is not since Niccolò has to straighten up and stretch out his neck to decipher the writing on the whiteboard resting on the kitchen counter that lists the very worst horror movies that they usually watch on Sunday nights to prepare for the next week. The name at the top of the list immediately draws his attention once he’s managed to decipher it.

“Did you add _Sharknado_?”

“Well, yeah, that’s gotta to be the worst one, right?”

“Is it even a horror movie though?” Niccolò questions, trying to piece together his own handwriting right underneath.

“Maybe not,” Filippo replies. “Shit, no _Sharknado_ , then.”

“Yep,” Niccolò says, privately relieved because bad horror movies and tornadoes full of sharks are two completely different things, “the rules are the rules.”

The next title, that he’s finally recognized with the help of some deduction, seems however much more up their alley and fits exactly the charter of the bad movie night.

“How about _I Still Know What You Did Last Summer_? It’s supposed to be really bad.”

Apparently, the statement is enough to finally get to Filippo because he sits up and turns around in interest towards the whiteboard.

“Oh, and a sequel, too. Bonus points for that. Look it up, I’ll check on the food.”

“Malik said that Rami was laughing so hard he started to cry," Niccolò adds while scrolling to find a working streaming site that doesn’t drown him in ads.

“Then, I guess we have a winner.”

The movie is queued up and ready to start, all pop-ups closed and the sound turned up when Filippo drops back down on the sofa.

“Ready?” Niccolò asks, poised to click.

“Ready.”


	6. Chapter 6

As expected and as always, the next Tuesday finds Martino arriving for his study session at his usual time. He lets himself in without knocking, which is lucky since Niccolò is running late for once. It takes the sound of the door opening to make him look up from his sketch in alarm before trying to get everything he needs shoved into his backpack as quickly as possible. Martino is already settling on the sofa with the smallest of all his books, which Nico now knows to be a copy of the Constitution, when he rushes by towards the door with a wave goodbye.

When he gets out of his class, he finds a text asking him if he made it in one piece, and even through the phone, the few words seem to be dripping with sarcasm. Niccolò is not one to let this kind of tone go unanswered and one thing leading to another, he ends up mentioning the werewolf movie marathon he and Filippo are planning on the next day which happens to be a full moon.

On Wednesday night, it is only when Martino shows up with two bags of chips and Filippo welcomes him with a surprised exclamation that it occurs to Niccolò that he forgot to inform his roommate that they would have a guest. It had seemed like a matter of course.

Obviously, Filippo doesn’t care and eagerly accepts the offerings that he adds to the array of junk food that is already covering the coffee table. Martino takes his seat between them on the sofa and then proceeds to look vaguely green for the entirety of the three movies they manage before calling it quits, which begs the question of why he agreed to come when he knew what to expect.

The next Saturday, they’re coming out of the movie theater - no werewolves this time - when Martino’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He takes one look at it and bursts into laughter before turning the screen towards Filippo, who immediately joins in. Before Niccolò can enquire on the cause of such hilarity, Martino lifts his phone in his direction.

“Luca, my friend who’s in Australia, you know?” Whatever has happened to Luca is enough to get Filippo laughing again, which sets off Martino and it takes him a few more seconds before he manages to finish his explanation. “He just got punched. By a koala.”

Given what he knows of the Australian fauna, Niccolò would have expected Luca to have a run-in with a snake, a spider, maybe a shark. Even in terms of marsupials, he might have bet on a wombat before a koala, so it takes him a second to process the news.

“I didn’t even think that was possible,” he eventually offers.

“Me neither,” Martino adds, sounding almost impressed.

“I’ll admit it,” Filippo graciously relents, “I did not see that one coming and that’s on me. But props to him for originality.”

“Yeah, I’m sure he’ll appreciate you giving him props,” Martino shoots back and he barely sounds like he’s joking.

The next week goes pretty much the same, with a football game and Lebanese food instead of werewolves and junk food, before they go dancing their Saturday night away until the small hours of the morning.

The week after that, Filippo attempts what he swears was supposed to be Hawaiian food one night and they spend their Friday night playing games at Driss’s.

It keeps going like that, Tuesdays, movie nights and takeout, weekends more or less filled with parties or more movie nights depending on the social calendar of the various other students they know. The semester passes by quickly with barely time to stop and pause, well-occupied with school, friends, applying to summer jobs and the spring cleaning Filippo suddenly decides they need at 10pm on a Thursday night, and Martino.

That one might occupy Niccolò the most. It’s really nice, getting to see him three times a week and knowing that Martino apparently now seems to take it as a given that any invitation extended to him also extends to Nico and Filippo and vice versa. Of course it is, but Niccolò is starting to accept that it might not be enough and it’s making him antsy.

He likes Martino a lot is the problem, and as much as he adores his roommate or enjoys spending time with Rami and the guys or with the girls from college, the feeling doesn’t compare.

Some days, it feels as if Niccolò manages to pause all of it for just a second, long enough to meet Martino’s eye across somebody’s living room and for him to believe that they are just one step away from meeting in the middle. But then, someone walks into view or a glass crashes to the floor and he gets swept away by the rush of their everyday routine again.

It all starts to blur together and yet there are moments of clarity that stand out, the warmth of Martino’s arm against his whenever he sits closer to him than necessary, seeking and finding Martino’s eyes in a group when someone makes a bad joke, the quiet rustling of paper when they spread out their textbooks on the kitchen table or his phone buzzing late at night after they’ve gone their separate ways outside a bar.

Plans aren’t always Nico’s thing, but he knows to step it up when the situation warrants it and this one definitely does. It’s been too easy to keep doing what they’ve been doing since they met and to imagine what could be but with the summer, their well-oiled routine is bound to be disrupted and then who knows what might happen. Unfortunately, he’s barely set out to Google pictures of Neptune to find some inspiration when change comes much sooner than he had anticipated.

As the semester comes to a close, Niccolò learns one more thing about Martino, which is that he takes finals very seriously. It isn’t actually that surprising with the amount of studying he’s been doing, but that could have just been a law thing. The closer finals loom and the more Niccolò witnesses that he cares about more than simply having an okay grade, the more he becomes convinced that it is in fact a Martino thing.

Since all their exams fall over the same couple of weeks and Martino’s impressive dedication to his studies does not mean he spends less time at their place, Niccolò and Filippo find themselves following his example almost by osmosis. All schedules and habits go out the window as all three of them scramble to finish their projects before their due dates and to catch up on all the studying they put off throughout the semester. Niccolò’s pretty sure he’s never seen Filippo sit so still and quiet for such long periods of time in the months he’s lived here. Unfortunately, with all of that going on, any half-formed plans also get pushed aside until a less studious atmosphere is restored.

On the Tuesday before Niccolò’s first exam, Martino lets himself in and it must be out of habit because his next exam is in two days and he could surely study at home.

While Niccolò is making some more coffee to get them both through the afternoon’s study session, Martino settles on the sofa with an impressive-looking stack of papers. He only glances up from squinting at them when a cup of coffee is put down on the table next to him. Even then, he offers a grateful smile before going back to mouthing words to himself while pressing the tip of his pen against the bridge of his nose.

They’ve been at it for over three hours in the silent flat only troubled by the clicking of fingers on a keyboard or the shuffling of papers when a knock at his bedroom door tears Niccolò’s eyes away from his literature notes.

Standing in the doorway is Martino, who looks pretty much exactly how he feels.

“I can’t read anymore.”

“Me neither,” Nico replies as he rubs his eyes, relieved that someone acknowledged it.

Martino’s eyes drift around his bedroom with curiosity for a few seconds before he speaks again.

“I don’t know anything about Mercury.”

It takes a second for Niccolò’s brain to catch up, still muddled in Italian literature as it is, and realize he doesn’t mean he’s afraid that Mercury may somehow be involved in his public law exam. What he’s doing is giving them both an out and a chance at a break and Nico is up and grabbing his laptop to take it to the living room before he’s actually formed the thought.

They make it all the way through Mercury and halfway through Uranus before Martino apologetically starts to pick up his notes to head home and have dinner with his mother. When Filippo comes home, not even 10 minutes later, Niccolò has not moved and is staring at a diagram of Uranus’s moons through bleary eyes. As soon as he realizes the subject of the episode, Filippo plops down on the sofa next to him and spends the last few minutes offering every single innuendo he can think of. Once he’s ran out of ideas, Niccolò wonders if he should blame a study overload or Martino deciding to rest his feet on his legs as they watched a close-up of Uranus’s rings for the fact that he managed to miss them all. Just in case, he decides to cut studying short for the day and heads to bed early.

Finals are exactly as painful and seemingly endless as they always are. The only thing that keeps them sane is the one night out they allow themselves halfway through the two hellish weeks so the three of them, two girls Martino knows from high school and hasn’t seen in a while, the girls from Niccolò’s class and a couple of Filippo’s friends can get royally smashed. Nobody gets any studying done the next day, but they at least kick off the last week of exams in a slightly better mood.

Filippo is the first one to be free of his school year and he celebrates by belting an entire Mahmood album, giving Niccolò a chance to break out the earplugs he had preventively bought after their first night out to the Gay Street. The earplugs, however, can only do so much and even modern history cannot compete against the one-man party happening in the next room. If anybody asks, he will deny having joined in halfway through “Soldi”. Nobody can prove it and as per the roommate code, Filippo probably wouldn’t rat him out.

The next day, Filippo is packing for his ten-day trip to Croatia with his sister and giving his last instructions while Niccolò is half-listening and half-giving his notes on metaphysical art one last chance to be committed to his memory.

He and Martino had generously been invited to the trip but neither of them are done with exams yet, not to mention that Nico is starting his job at la Centrale Montemartini the next week while Martino has to psychologically prepare for spending the summer making photocopies at some kind of posh law firm downtown. As mind-numbingly boring as the job will probably end up being, Niccolò is looking forward to sitting among antique masterpieces and sketching them all day for three months, so, no matter how tempting, the invitation had not been that hard to refuse, especially with the knowledge that Martino was slated to spend all summer in Rome as well. Filippo may have had a point when he said that proximity could be a powerful magnet.

“And don’t let Martino eat all of our food,” Filippo orders from the bathroom. “You’re not the one who cooks here, but I know exactly what’s in this cabinet and I need all of it, got it?”

“Hm,” Nico answers vaguely, his eyes still stuck on his screen. “I don’t think that’s really going to be a problem.”

“Oh, no, trust me, he has no shame and in my absence, it falls on you to defend our stocks, okay? Fares, are you even listening?”

“Yes.” Nico finally looks up to glance at him briefly, acknowledging that he’s actually heard. “But I don’t know what you’re worried about. If you’re not there, Marti’s not going to be around as much.”

As he doesn’t get any answer, he presumes that the topic is closed and goes back to deciphering a sentence he definitely should not have left in shorthand because he sometimes has a tendency to get his abbreviations mixed up. When he hears his roommate move around the room and stop next to him, he doesn’t think much of it until silence falls and he realizes that Filippo must just be standing there. A tentative look in his direction reveals Filippo looking down at him with a circumspect expression. Niccolò holds his gaze questioningly until Filippo crouches down in front of him.

“Fares.”

“Sava,” he replies automatically, although with a questioning tone.

Filippo grabs both of Nico’s knees to steady himself and he looks oddly serious. “Hon, while I’m away, I’m going to need you to do one thing.”

“I know, I heard. I won’t let Martino eat your food, but…”

“No,” Filippo interrupts, squeezing his right knee to signal he’s not done. “I’m going to need you to think long and hard about whenever Martino came over in the past couple of months, and whether or not I was there."

Niccolò simply stares at him for a brief moment before replying.

“What do you mean? It’s your place.”

“Yeah, but now it’s your place too.” Filippo pats his knee before standing up. “I’m going to be late, I’ve got to get moving.”

While his roommate disappears back into his bedroom to figure out what he may have forgotten, Niccolò is left with that to mull over.

Pretty much since the moment they were introduced, Martino’s presence around the flat has been a given, as has been the fact that whatever they did, they all did together. Sure, it is obvious that Martino enjoys hanging out with Niccolò as well and he has, in fact, on numerous occasions been at their place when it was just Nico here. But Filippo would always be home eventually, and as Niccolò still considered the flat as his first and since he was clearly the glue connecting them all together, it had not occurred to him that Martino might have scheduled his visits according to Nico himself. Despite having paid particular attention to Martino from day one, Niccolò now realizes that he may not have been paying close enough attention.

All thoughts of De Chirico pushed to the background, he follows the advice he’s just been given and starts mentally ticking off the times when Martino had come to study when he knew perfectly well that Filippo was in class, the movie marathon where he had not been here for the werewolves or the fact that he had stuck around the day after Nico had introduced him to his favorite documentaries on the solar system. He’s wondering if he should also count the regular Tuesday study sessions given that their interactions were always limited to five minutes at most on those days when Filippo walks back into the room. He places a pair of neon green plastic sunglasses over his eyes and waves a hand in his direction.

“I’ll see you in two weeks. Have fun and try not to starve.”


	7. Chapter 7

Niccolò keeps thinking about it after Filippo walks out the door. He can’t afford to let it become his sole focus because he still has a lot on his plate, but he’s still very aware of his roommate’s words and the conclusions he drew from them.

When Martino texts him barely an hour after Filippo leaves to inform him that he’s coming to cram at their place because his mother is hovering and he can't take it anymore, Niccolò can’t do much more than concede once again that Filippo may have a point. He usually does and it’s very annoying.

Luckily, he doesn’t have to sit with the thought for that long since two days later, he walks out of his very last exam with relief and impatience battling it out inside of him. Impatience wins out when he finds a text from Martino who is already waiting for him on the way back to the flat. They had mutually agreed that after the substantial efforts of the past few weeks, they deserved to splurge on some takeout since their designated cook was away and to do nothing for the rest of the day and possibly for the entire weekend after that.

Although by now, Nico has cast aside any thoughts of sophisticated plans, he is still hoping that nothing will not remain the only item on the agenda, but even if it is, he’ll take nothing with Martino over anything else. An empty flat, food and the sort of tired exhilaration that comes with the end of a school year, he figures, should be enough to judge exactly how right Filippo might have been. And whether or not he’s successful, the bottle of vodka is still waiting to be opened in celebration or in consolation.

Inside the flat, Martino heads straight to the sofa and drops down with a sigh.

“Finally, I can sit here without a textbook, isn’t that great?” He stretches out his arms over the back of the sofa, his body relaxing into the seat as if all the weight of the past two weeks had suddenly evaporated into thin air.

“It is, it’s a good couch and it doesn’t deserve to be associated with whatever they put in those bricks of yours.”

Niccolò opens the fridge to find something cool to drink and grabs a bottle of Coke someone had begged him to take home at the end of a house party. He pours out two glasses and hands one to Martino before collapsing next to him and letting himself breathe out the entire semester, banishing any serious thought until he has to report to work on Tuesday.

Neither of them moves for a while, it would be hard to say how long exactly, and several minutes stretch out before Niccolò draws himself back to the moment and glances towards Martino who is resting his head on the back of the sofa with his eyes closed. The image strikes him as oddly reminiscent of that night where they watched documentaries in silence and he could almost believe Martino’s fallen asleep again if he was not absentmindedly rubbing the rim of his glass with his thumb.

“Aren’t you glad there wasn’t some kind of law party tonight, you would have missed out on all that excitement?” At his words, a smile appears on Martino’s lips before he even opens his eyes and looks up with some effort.

“Actually, a guy I did a project with, Gianni, invited a bunch of people to have drinks at his place and then there was this massive party in Trastevere.”

“I thought all law students were assholes.” The words come out before Niccolò can really think them through and the barest hint of a frown appears on Martino’s face.

“Apparently not.”

“Could have fooled me,” Niccolò teases as he elbows Martino’s arm pointedly. It gets him a small smile but it doesn’t seem enough to turn Martino’s frown upside down, so he returns to their original subject. “Why aren’t you at Gianni’s, then?”

“We already said we were going to meet up,” Martino answers with a shrug, now turning his attention towards the coffee table.

“It’s just takeout and doing nothing. You could have gone.”

However he had envisioned the evening going, it was not supposed to include trying to convince Martino to ditch the plans he had been looking forward to for three days. He wishes he could have just let it slide and moved on, but the idea of being plan B to some guy he didn’t even know existed until now or of Martino being here out of some sense of obligation sits heavily in his gut.

A long silence follows during which he just stares at his glass. When he finally looks up, he finds Martino already looking at him with a pinched expression that Niccolò doesn’t quite know how to interpret.

“But I was kinda looking forward to doing nothing with you.”

The words sound so close to what he was feeling as he stepped out of his exam room that he can feel a smile tug at the corner of his lips. It is possible that he might have misjudged who was plan B in this situation. At his reaction, Martino’s expression finally relaxes as well and his tone is much more playful when he adds, “Plus, the other people who were coming were all couples and I wasn’t going to play seventh wheel.”

“Shame you don’t have a boyfriend,” Niccolò shoots back with a laugh.

Martino snorts and starts contemplating the Coke swirling in his glass. “Yeah, shame.”

“Do you want one?”

Once upon a time, two weeks ago, Niccolò had considered plans like night visits to the observatory or kidnapping a law book and hiding secret messages in case studies. Now, he simply lets the question hover between them as he sits up on the couch, turning his body towards Martino who is biting back a smile before mirroring his position.

“Depends who’s offering.” He considers Nico with a searching gaze again, although there is no frown to be seen this time. “Are you offering?”

"Well, if you're desperate, I'd do that for you," Niccolò replies, shifting even further until his side is pressed along the back of the sofa and his left knee rests on the cushion between them.

Martino huffs out a brief laugh. “You would? But, see, it’s not that easy. There's an application process.” Again, Martino moves to mirror him, going as far as crossing both his legs on the sofa so they are now fully facing each other.

“Is there?”

“Yes, and it's very strict. He’s got to have a nice place not too far from college. And acknowledge that Neptune is the superior planet.”

Niccolò makes an unconvinced face. There are some sacrifices to which he cannot consent as a matter of principle, even for the bright grin on Martino’s face. “Well…”

“Planet,” Martino cuts him off pointedly. “I said _planet._ ”

“Oh! Okay, then. That doesn’t sound too bad. You already know the answers to both of these.”

“Right, but there’s one more thing.” Crossing his arms, Martino looks at him in a way that seems almost calculating. “He must be able to take a hint.”

He doesn’t flinch or look away for as long as Niccolò stares at him questioningly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Sorry,” Martino winces. “We’re going to have to reject your application.”

The grin on Martino’s face is still firmly in place, possibly getting wider, so there is no way that he is serious, but now Niccolò is starting to feel that even though he is talking to a law student, he’s not being granted a fair trial. “What? I can take a hint.”

“I know you can’t.”

“Maybe you just don’t know how to drop hints, then.”

Martino shakes his head resolutely. “No, you can ask Filo, I think it’s your comprehension skills that are in question.”

“Filo has an opinion on this?”

“What doesn’t he have an opinion on?”

And really, Niccolò has to give him that so he doesn't object further and goes back to his line of questioning. “When did you drop any hint?”

Martino looks up as if he was pondering his answer, in a move that he has clearly borrowed from Filippo. “March.”

“That’s when we met.”

“I know.”

Niccolò sits up and narrows his eyes at Martino. “I don’t believe you.”

“It guess that explains a lot. But it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you just keep asking questions and I’m still waiting.”

“For what?”

“For your application. Come on, present your case.”

“Okay, counselor,” Niccolò laughs as Martino just gives him an impatient gesture and looks down at his bracelet as if it was a watch. “You already know about the flat, close to campus, very good sofa, well-stocked in food, only the best of company.”

“Of course,” Martino comments in the most neutral tone he can manage, which is probably too amused for an actual court of law.

“It also comes with an excellent selection of documentaries about the solar system, including Pluto, as it deserves, with a particularly entrancing episode about Neptune, the superior planet, as is widely known.”

Martino gives him a small bow in acknowledgement before resting his elbows on his knees to keep listening. “I think you mean Netflix does, but I’ll give it to you.”

“Thank you.”

“What else?”

“As soon as the first shuttle to Planet Pasta is operational, you’ll have a reserved first-class seat.”

That gets a brief laugh and the sound makes Niccolò realize as he searches his mind for more that Martino must have been inching forward as they talked because he’s suddenly much closer than he was before. 

“Only the finest Czech vodka, free Achille Lauro concerts when you least expect them, complete with choreography and most of the lyrics, pyjama pants, extra towels…” Martino loses his balance briefly and catches himself by putting his hands down on the sofa, brushing against Nico’s knee in the process. “In the afternoon, the light is just right to read about political economy.” Mirroring his position this time, Niccolò leans forward as well, placing his right hand next to Martino’s. “Am I convincing you yet?”

“I think there’s one more point I’m going to need clarification on.”

Niccolò barely has time to nod before Martino closes the space between them and kisses him. Martino’s left hand leaves the cushion to grab at his shirt while Niccolò takes hold of the back of his neck to keep him close. They break off pretty soon but neither moves away as they lose themselves to each other’s proximity, and Niccolò can almost feel the small, blissful smile on Martino’s face as his own.

“Do you accept my application, then?” He murmurs, not daring to speak any louder, not needing to either.

“I think you’d qualify for a trial period.”

“A trial period?” Niccolò scoffs, pulling away to make his offense as clear as he can. “Fuck off!”

Before he can keep protesting, Martino’s hand grabs at his shirt again, higher on his chest, to pull him in again. Niccolò forgets what he was offended about.

After an entire week of sitting on uncomfortable chairs and interrupting his sketching every ten minutes to ask people to please keep an eye on their children or _please_ step away from the art, everything is already behind him as Niccolò finds himself in his new favorite position again, with Martino’s mouth against his jaw and his own hand in Martino’s hair. It’s been an exhausting week for both of them, spent attempting to adapt to new schedules right after the end of the semester, a week of brief embraces before one of them had to leave again.

But the week had eventually come to an end and although Martino has to be back at his firm on Monday and Niccolò will go back to his designated chair on Tuesday, they have an entire Sunday before them that they fully intend to make the most of.

A whole day is both a lot of time and barely enough to really soak in Martino’s presence to the full, but that’s not going to stop them from trying. For now, it’s still early. The morning may already be over, but the day is still young and they have nowhere to be, so there is no need to rush anything.

So here they are, trading slow kisses, pausing just to look at each other, Niccolò committing Martino’s features to memory, then colliding again like two magnets when the draw becomes just too strong to resist. Then starting all over again.

Slow’s never been Nico’s speed and yet, despite falling for him almost instantly, this thing with Martino has been slow right from the start - although not out of a conscious decision by either of them - so maybe there is something to be said for a change of pace. At least Niccolò thinks so, or he does until the front door slams shut.

“Thank fuck!” Filippo’s voice reaches them loud and clear from the entrance of the flat.

“Shit,” Martino breathes out against Nico's neck.

Niccolò silences him with a hand over his mouth. “Don’t say anything, maybe he’ll go away.”

From above Niccolò’s fingers, Martino gives him a highly skeptical look before pulling his hand away. “You live with him and you honestly believe that?”

“Fares, where’s the welcoming committee?” The voice continues as they can hear its owner moving around. “Your shoes are in the middle of the living room, so I know you’re in here. Unless you’ve gone shopping without me and we’ve already talked about that.”

Martino rolls away from him as the steps get closer and Niccolò whispers, “He’s not going to just…”

But he’s interrupted by a knock on the door and Filippo’s voice asking, “Nico, everything okay?” The door opens immediately after that without waiting for an answer.

Niccolò privately thanks whatever deity might live up here, down there or wherever, that he and Martino had completely forgotten he was back today and thought they had all the time in the world, because they are still both fully dressed when Filippo’s face appears in front of them and he visibly takes in the sight. He then proceeds to lean his arm against the doorframe and smirk.

“Fares.”

“Sava.”

“Rametta,” he continues, glancing towards Martino, who doesn’t seem all that bothered by the situation.

“Hey, Filo.”

“Someone’s been doing some thinking.” Filippo smiles as he looks back at Nico.

“How was your trip?” Niccolò retorts, deflecting the question.

“Amazing. I can show you a slideshow if you want,” Filippo replies in a tone that really doesn’t need to be that sarcastic. Instead of coming to Nico's rescue, Martino laughs.

“Maybe later.”

“Yeah, I figured as much. I’m just going to drop my stuff and I’ll be out of your hair, don’t worry. Don’t let me stop you.” He closes the door behind him with a wink.

It’s not that comfortable picking up where they left off knowing that Filippo is right behind the pretty thin wall, so Nico turns to his side so he can face Martino who hooks one of his ankles with his and gives him a curious look.

“What did you have to think about?”

“You,” Nico replies, which, sure, gets him an eye roll at first, but it is quickly followed by Martino’s arm around his side and a kiss, so he’ll take it.

Outside the room, a cabinet door slams shut.

“For fuck’s sake, if you’re going to finish the pasta, at least buy some more, you fucking gremlins!”

At the outburst, Martino tries to shuffle away again, but Niccolò doesn’t let him and tightens his grip around his back.

“Do you think we should tell him about Planet Pasta?” Martino asks after a short pause.

“I’m not sure it would be such a good idea to spread that information too far.”

“No, you’re right. We should keep it to ourselves.”

“Exactly, we wouldn’t want it to be overrun by tourists.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t tell anybody about Neptune either.”

Niccolò, who had been focused on tracking the steps in the next room waiting for the moment when they might walk out again, turns his attention back to Martino, a little puzzled at this statement.

“Why not Neptune? Because I think it might be a bit late to keep that a secret.”

“It’s a really pretty blue,” Martino replies with a shrug. “Wouldn’t you want to have it to yourself?”

Niccolò lets go of Martino to rub his thumb along the collar of his blue shirt.

“That’s true. You know what, let’s make it the whole solar system just in case.”

“Or the Milky Way.”

Niccolò smiles. “Or the whole universe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real talk, is Nico being this oblivious lowkey out of character? Yes, but I started this while in quarantine and honestly, coziness was higher on my list of priorities than accuracy.  
> Anyway, thank you very much for reading.  
> Extra special thanks to Philomène for the writing sessions, the bad horror movie recommendations and for ~~making~~ letting me use your name.


End file.
